


Tenderly

by morecivilizedage



Series: Explorations with Ella & Louis [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Tenderness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 10:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morecivilizedage/pseuds/morecivilizedage
Summary: Your arms opened wideAnd closed me insideYou took my lipsYou took my loveSo tenderlyA first, for Cody and Obi-Wan without their third.





	Tenderly

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, huh? Not all that smutty, unfortunately, but I think it works pretty well just as it is.

It’s a quiet night. Even the torrential rains of Kamino had settled into something that could approximate softness.

“You coming to bed, General?”

Obi-Wan turns back from where he’d been staring out into the always-gloom of Kamino’s downpour to look at Cody, stretched out in a cot in a requisitioned set of private quarters. Most of the tubes have been removed, but Obi-Wan can still see where the stark white of the bandage and patches around his chest peek out from the drab blankets. These are accompanied by the white-blue sheen of a monitoring patch just below the junction of Cody’s elbow, projecting vitals onto a discreet screen along the back wall of the room.

It takes him too long to rouse himself; Cody is already reaching out with his other hand towards him, the bitten-back wince of the strain against newly-mended or regrown muscles. The monitor begins to beep softly.

“Don’t–” Obi-Wan starts, moving swiftly to his side, while Cody settles back down, with a faint hint of a smirk and pats the space beside him.

“If you please, General.” For a moment, Obi-Wan looks as if he is going to turn away. In that same moment, Cody shifts as though he was about to hoist himself vertical. Obi-Wan sits down. Cody reaches up and gently tugs Obi-Wan down to lay beside him. He hardly has the strength at the moment to force the Jedi Master into doing anything, but the firm insistence of his grip seems as inexorable as the pull of gravity, especially when Cody’s hand slides up, and guides Obi-Wan’s cheek to rest against his good shoulder.

Obi-Wan curls closer around him, almost involuntary, and Cody turns his head just enough to brush his lips against his General’s forehead, eyes closed. There’s a soft almost-broken sound, muffled into his heated skin, but Cody doesn’t pay it any mind, simply pressing his lips a little more firmly to Obi-Wan's hairline. It seems unbearably intimate, in spite of the fact that there is clothing and two layers of bedding between them.

Cody knows Obi-Wan, knows exactly where to press, to suck, to tease to draw out the loudest of his cries of pleasure. Knows exactly how far to push to have him trembling with want before too much pleasure edges over into oversensitive pain, and even how much farther he can go, still, before he falls into pieces in his and Rex’s hands. In turn, Obi-Wan knows what to say, what to do, to let Cody to lose his structured self-control. Knows how to yield under his hands so that they are both caught up in the frisson of pleasure and desire. Knows, even, how to help Rex coax Cody into his own lax pliancy, those oh-so-rare moments when he yields, he bends, surrenders to them both and lets them take control for the sake of their praise.

But this is something else entirely. It is different, without Rex curled up beside them, but it does not feel incomplete. It is new, instead. The soft patter of rain against the windowpane, the slight chill and heavy humidity feeling not unlike the soft mist of a dewy morning, the way they curl together for nothing. Cody can feel the tension ease from Obi-Wan’s shoulders the more they rest in silence, the aching set he knows to be borne of his General’s misplaced guilt for things out of his control.

At last, Obi-Wan shifts up, tilts his head closer, and they draw together with some slow, easy inevitability. It is nothing cataclysmic, nothing spectacular like the collision of astral bodies. There is no bang, no moment of epiphany, no great thunder that rumbles as they meet.

It is almost unbearably tender. Lips that meet with a gentle, unrelenting pressure, no urgency or need for it to deepen. No passion to drive it. It is the weight of Obi-Wan’s head on his shoulder, the press of his warmth against his side, the space of shared breaths between them.

It is two hearts slowing, settling into evenness, beating in tandem, and something infinitely more precious.


End file.
